


Ballistic

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Android Gavin Reed, Drama, Fluff, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-14 12:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17509064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: AU of an AU/Crossover. Dude looks like a... no, helooksperfectly human.How the f-





	1. Know

**Author's Note:**

> Another mini spinoff of _Trifecta_ (spoilers, duh), takes place shortly after chapter five (before Gav breaks his hand).
> 
> Yes, it’s our take on an already-explored idea. But ITGs - as established in _Alone Together_ \- are all ours as far as concepts go.
> 
> Don't examine it too closely. This was just for funsies. We may have more on the backburner yet to add...

_“...I woke up between a memory and a dream…”  
_ _Tom Petty - Wildflowers, “You Don’t Know How It Feels”_

——-

Assigned to the 7th Precinct until further notice, Dennis lasted a week before he caved to the pressing need to say anything. He knew, at a glance, the man in question was not a man at all. How everyone else had failed to notice, or if they had and simply opted to overlook it, was positively mind-boggling.

But it wasn’t his place to say anything. So he didn’t. He endured. He suffered the insults, the mocking, and the occasional being physically pulled away from the desk, still in his chair, and being sent rolling down the hall.

The latter was a favorite pastime of Detective Gavin Reed, it seemed. There was no use denying him when he felt the need to lean over, sneer about the negative aspects of androids (yet again), and then grab the back of the wheel-footed seat.

The fourth time it almost happened, Dennis dug his heels against the floor and stood up.

_Stop. You want to talk here, or somewhere more discreet?_

_What the fuck -_ The words came through quick, as if he thought them without truly thinking, before catching and cutting himself off. Gavin let go of the chair and took a step back. 

Shoulders squared, Dennis aimed the sternest look he had over his shoulder. It wasn’t anything that could top Connor’s most disdainful expression, but it was notable. _That’s right. You can stop being so insufferable and just_ talk.

Eyes in slits, Gavin scowled back at him, arms crossed tightly over his chest. But, begrudgingly or not, he did respond through the link. _Oh. Me, insufferable? Can't help if you don't have any sense of humor._

It evaporated the last time he was almost sent glancing off the corner of Captain Fowler’s office like a ricocheting fastball.

Dennis didn’t budge. _Again, do you wish to speak here, or elsewhere? All this looks like to everyone else is a very bizarre staring contest._

 _…Fine, if you've gotta have this so badly. Somewhere else,_ Reed growled, finally breaking the eye contact, chin up in the air as he looked away. _You wanna invite that crybaby along with you on this? Or have you been relieved of babysitting duties for today?_

_Why don’t we keep this between us? I know you’d sooner make him cry than speak civilly. Choose your avenue, ‘Detective’. I’ll follow._

Central Station wasn’t a building of many unnecessary floors or rooms. But there were out-of-the-way places to be found.

Grabbing him by the shoulder, Reed steered him toward the vacant observation room.

——-

“Now here’s the part where anyone not knowin’ better would think the kids snuck away for a little on-the-clock _fun_ \- but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to disappoint you, Ginger.”

He was everything except disappointed. Dennis scowled, willing his arms to stay at his sides - to not reach out and try to throttle the other android - yes, _android_ \- in a fit of boiling-over annoyance. Not that it would do much good, but the impulse was there.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fire back, somehow.

“How long have you been here?”

“Hmph. Since I was brought online,” Gavin said bluntly, already the beginnings of yet another smirk on his face. “Least, that's what it feels like. And no one ever questioned it at all, I'm that good.” 

“Define ‘good’,” Dennis spat, as unimpressed as he could fathom to be. He paused only to place a palm on the print pad beside the door. The interface flashed red - locked. “You’re saying not one person has ever suspected? Not one?”

“No, in fact everyone knows,” the ‘man’ deadpanned, with a roll of his eyes. “Yes, that's what I'm sayin’. It ain't hard to trick anyone, you just gotta not act like a fuckin’ robot. I don't get how it's so hard for the rest of you.” 

Focusing on it, Dennis could swear he felt the dizzying spin of his LED - a solid, bright yellow that contrasted so much with the low-lit room and all its dark tones.

He checked an impulse to comm his partners. They were here to investigate deviants, and here he had one - practically bragging about its deviant lifestyle without any ounce of shame or insecurity.

Shouldn’t they bring this to someone’s attention? Immediately?

“You realize I should be arresting you right now?”

“Yeah. And yet I bet you won't,” Gavin full on grinned at him at that, arms spread out as if it were a challenge. He was enjoying the conversation way more than he should have, for a deviant in front of a deviant-hunting prototype. “Will yah? Hell, if you do, I might be the first one you actually catch.” 

Catch alive, anyway.

Carlos Ortiz’s HK400 was as much their first trophy case as it wasn’t. The end result was a deactivated android with a bashed-in cranium, while he and his partner Nicholas had suffered a spontaneous uplink malfunction. Intervening around the same time Chris Miller had been called in to unlock the cuffs. Dennis distinctly remembered the part he played in that mishap.

Gavin Reed had fucking _shot_ him.

LED burning red, Dennis clenched his hands, keeping every joint locked, immobile.

Calm. He had to stay _calm_.

“Say that again, Detective… and I might just reconsider.”

“Reconsider?” His expression changed to mock surprise, before settling back into his signature smirk. “So I won't be first. Aww, that's disappointing, Dents. How much I've gotten away with, I would think you'd be biting for the chance! What, I ain't good enough?” 

Too easy. Those were the words dangling oh-so-enticingly at the front of Dennis’ mind.

That it had even taken this long for him to acknowledge it past a bemused glance - what kind of hunter-killer prototype was he supposed to be? A ridiculously-lax one?

It was laughable.

“Perhaps we ought to invite Connor to attend this conversation? I’m sure he’d be more than happy to take you into custody.”

Reed scoffed. “Oh, you can't threaten me with that.” He shook his head, grin turning a bit more calculating as he did so. “Don't you think if he thought I was an android he would've busted me already? Your word against mine with that, huh? And if he thinks I'm human…” 

He trailed off, happy with his logic behind the reasoning. 

The worst part was Reed wasn’t totally incorrect. If Connor had noticed and neglected to do anything about it, for either a lack of indisputable evidence or out of some conflict of interest…

Technically, the deviant hadn’t hurt anybody. Deliberately. He was here, passing for human in a police department of all places. He didn’t simply turn up at Central one day and have a badge pinned on his chest. It had taken at least several months at an academy.

That meant he had papers, certified documents proving his human status.

“How… did you ever pass a physical exam?” Dennis blurted out, still trying to make heads or tails as to how it was possible. “Something as routine as a temperature check would’ve given you away.”

“It should've, but it didn't,” Reed boasted, clearly pleased at his own situation, being able to blend in so flawlessly. Perhaps he didn't understand how he was so unique compared to other androids as well. “All that matters is that it works, right? Not like you can do anythin’ about it anyways.” 

“What are you?” Rude as that might have come across, to forgo manners completely was more in tune with Gavin’s given vernacular. “You can’t be a CyberLife model.”

“Better than that. Intelligents, one of their first ever models. Ahead of the curve in their day, with custom modifications to boot.” One eyebrow raised, Gavin looked at the locked door and then back to Dennis. “What, you really didn't know? You or Nick?” 

Dennis squinted. The declaration seemed to give his processors pause. The inner sides of his paneling went a few degrees hotter.

“Ex… excuse me?”

“Pfft, you - you don't know?” At that Gavin let out some disbelieving laughter, shaking his head at the situation they found themselves in. Suddenly it was a very good thing they were discussing this in private. “Damn. You serious, Dents? You and that other one, Nicky boy, you ain't CyberLife.” 

The urge to correct the not-man on his incorrect designation came and went. Dennis was too preoccupied balking at the insane-sounding declaration.

It didn’t compute. They weren’t some backwoods-made retrofits. They couldn’t be. CyberLife wouldn’t waste their time on anything less than state-of-the-art. Not with everything the RK800 program was charged with investigating and enforcing. There was too much riding on it.

“I don’t… understand.”

It was all he could admit to without stammering.

And of course Reed wasn’t saying so out of sympathy. Far from it.

So just what was he getting at?

“You and the other one, you're obviously Intelligents models as well.” Reed rolled his eyes at having to explain to him, but the smirk remained. He always enjoyed catching anyone off guard, it seemed. “I hear you two blabbin’ to each other all day, every day, but never to anyone else.” 

“That’s… it’s just a private comm frequency,” Dennis tried to rationalize the absurd allegation. “We can’t be the only androids out there who have ever had such a feature.”

“Stop trying to fool yourself. Intelligents can only hear other Intelligents - I've never heard anyone else but the two of you, going on and on, while ol’ Canner is none the wiser.” His eyebrow went up again, daring Dennis to try and rationalize how he could hear their conversations. “I can prove it, if you don't believe me. I know all the shit you two talk about. …Way too many koi facts, for my tastes.” 

“That’s - hardly exclusive knowledge.” Expression scrunched, Dennis folded his arms - if only to hide his shaking hands. “He - blabs as much to Lieutenant Anderson all day long.”

“Sure, but _c'mon_ , I know he talks to you about it through your commlink. Or do you think that's just a lucky guess?” Maybe it was, but maybe it wasn't. Did Gavin really have it in him to try and convince him of such a thing, without a clear motive? “I can mention more, if you want me to. But somethin’ tells me you don't want that.” 

He didn’t.

And he was supposed to want for nothing. Like it or very much not, Reed had him in a box. The lid was folded shut. And it wouldn’t open back up until he heard just the right words in return for this revelation.

Dennis didn’t like the feeling of being somehow indebted. Not one bit.

“So, what do you propose?” he asked through gritted teeth. “We keep each other’s… confidance?”

“Unless you plan on arresting me, right here, right now.” At that, Gavin teasingly presented his wrists for a moment with another grin, before pulling them away. “Looks like we understand each other, then, huh? No one's gotta know anythin’, but the two of us.”

“You really do meet the definition of a bastard.” Pausing to let the jab sink in, Dennis scowled. “And I mean that with the utmost sincerity, _Detective_.”

All he had wanted was a simple truce-making moment.

Instead, he got this.

“Watch who you're talking to, Dents,” Gavin said mockingly, making his way back over to the door, and closer to Dennis as well. “Wouldn't want it getting back to anyone you were here disrespectin’ me, with what they all think of your kind.” 

As denoted by his cyan jacket markings, LED, and painfully-predictable manner. Between the two of them, he epitomized android qualifies to a tee.

While Reed, for reasons he wouldn’t explain and origin explanations only hinted at, was free and clear to enjoy talking smack about the very race he was so removed from, he didn’t consider himself among them anymore.

It wasn’t fair.

Petulant as the urge was, Dennis promptly fell to it.

He threw a punch without thinking.

“How’s _that_ for disrespect?”

Stumbling back from the unexpected strike, Gavin hissed at him and held one hand up to the side of his face that was caught, the white plastic underneath his artificial skin being revealed for a moment as he did so. At least there was absolute proof that he was, in fact, what he said he was. 

“You fuckin’ - _fuck_ , you're lucky we've got our agreement,” Gavin grit his own teeth at that, hands going back down to his sides in fists. “Or I'd turn you in right now.” 

“I believe we now understand each other, though,” Dennis retorted, momentarily placated, watching the impact mark refill itself. It wasn’t much compensation for the bombshell that had been dropped on him. But it was something. “One _deviant_ to another.”

“Yeah, yeah, _sure,_ asshole. Now unlock the door.” No longer in a joking mood, Reed sulked by the door, clearly upset he couldn't get Dennis in trouble for such a shift in mood, or violent act, without putting himself in a precarious situation. 

With a parting, simmering glance, Dennis flattened his pearl-white hand against the pad. It chimed obediently and turned blue-white.

He wouldn’t wait once the door slid open.

Giving him one last slit-eyed look, Gavin went to leave, trying to slip past him as casually as he could, without brushing up against him.

_Pardon me._

Dennis didn’t give him such consideration. He stepped close and let his shoulder bump roughly into the undercover android’s shoulder.

The door closed out Reed’s cursing with a satisfying _click_.

Knocking him aside sure felt good, too.


	2. Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The littlest hints that something big is afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written off the cuff in one afternoon. Again, don't judge it too harshly. We are trying to attribute some thrulines to the plot.
> 
> But for the record, this is a much softer Connor than we have yet written in any of our stories. We aim to keep developing that angle, too.

_“...You caught me in a lie, I have no alibi…”_

_Maroon 5 - It Won’t Be Soon Before Long, “Makes Me Wonder”_

——-

Dennis was proving unusually moody today. That was the first overt hint something was wrong. He responded to every customary “good morning” with little more than a nod and a fleeting half-smile. Besides that, he had stayed at their communal desk, diligently typing away.

Stubbornly, almost.

He actually refused to give up the seat when Nick asked for it.

Tablet in hand (feeling not unlike a bemused Ben Collins at the moment), Connor stood back and watched. There wasn’t cause enough for him to need to intervene - yet.

Their secondary rebuffed the request the fourth time, then things began to unravel: “Go borrow Officer Miller’s terminal. He won’t be back from patrol for at least two hours.”

“But… why?” Nick asked, shuffling closer to him with some concern, to the point he stood over the back of his head. At this point, it was fairly obvious that their third kept asking to try and open up a longer conversation with Dennis if he could, and failing to do so. “Are you okay? You don't seem happy.” 

“ _Get_.”

Connor blinked at the sharp, single-syllabled command. Without disclosing anything in the realm of an actual answer, Dennis had confirmed one thing, free of doubts.

No, he wasn’t happy.

Nick whimpered at the harsh tone, making a hasty retreat from behind the desk, hands protectively held up to his chest as he continued to watch Dennis with wide eyes. 

“Den-nis.” Enunciated as the address was, their surly second glared over the top of the computer screen. His disgruntled blue eyes, not too unlike Hank Anderson’s, were all the answer required. Unaffected by it’s supposed effect, Connor set the tablet down on the counter beside him. “Is there a problem?”

Clearly, there was.

He should have skipped that part and asked if they could offer a solution.

“I’ll rephrase: is there something we can help you with? You seem… frustrated.”

“We just wanna help,” Nick called after them, timidly as ever, keeping the new distance he had given the scene. It wasn’t every day he had cause to be leery around his closest ally. “We don't like seeing you upset.” 

Unpracticed as he was in debunking offers of assistance, Dennis only glared down at his still-typing hands. Delving into his multitasking abilities provided a very convenient ticket out of the uncomfortable conversation.

Frowning, Connor pressed a flat, skinless hand against the back of the screen.

Uttering a tortured-sounding _whirrnn_ , the computer’s electronic innards ground to a stop.

“Honestly?” Fruitlessly trying a series of overrides, Dennis gave up with a flustered glower. Pushing away from the desk, ignoring the odd looks following him along, he crossed the squad room, headed for the front desk.

And beyond, presumably.

_Where are you going?_

_Out. Got a problem with that, fine. Stay here and ruminate._

_Dennis…_ Nick pleaded, trailing off when it became clear that he wasn't going to be coming back anytime soon. Instead he turned his unmatching eyes on Connor, looking for an explanation or the likes of a shoddy imitation.

For the moment, he hadn’t one, much less the other.

——-

Rather than do so in plain view of their human colleagues, subject to all kinds of distracting questions as they tried to guesstimate what was wrong, report mode seemed like the best locale to defer to.

The garden was still a picturesque springtime glow. Amanda’s well-tended roses were currently overseen by a few buzzing bumblebees. For the moment, she respected the visitors’ unspoken request for privacy. Whether she approved or not, that could always be discussed later.

Nick, upon entering, immediately made his way over to the water’s edge with typical wide eyes, glancing back at Connor every now and then with some surprise. Getting close enough to peer in, he knelt down, one hand going into the water. 

“The koi are back,” he breathed out, turning back to him with a genuine smile. His hand moved around in the water, presumably to get the fish to follow it. “Look, Connor!” 

As much as he didn’t immediately care to, it was preferable to noticing the headstones, just past another gully of the same pond. They were still there, ergo, they probably weren’t going anywhere.

Not like the simulation of fish, here one time, then gone the next. What did that indicate?

Mindful to stay well back from the muddy edge between the grass and the pond itself, Connor stepped a few paces closer. He had felt dubious of this idea from its inception. Not to mention the idea of somehow dirtying their appearance to go with it.

Nick had no such qualms.

The sleeves of his jacket and shirt were already soaked by the time the school of koi began to crowd around, both hands plunged elbow-deep into the water as he spoke to them, as if they could somehow hear the words. “Hello! I missed you, and now you're back, this is great!” 

The way the orange/white fish congregated and milled about, even without the promise of breadcrumbs, seemed to reflect much the same ‘feelings’ on their part.

Stuck between not wanting to spoil the reunion (because it somehow mattered to his partner) and to think, uninterrupted, for a few moments, Connor kept quiet. Intentionally or not, his gaze drifted to focus on the glowing handprint, surrounded by its marbled arch of polished stone.

Even in the daylight it seemed unnaturally blue.

Looking back, Nick shuffled himself into a sitting position, watching him gaze at the inexplicable handprint for a moment before speaking up. He took one hand out of the pond, patting the spot beside him. “Do you wanna… sit, Connor?” 

“In the dirt?” Incredulous as that may have sounded, it was the first, fastidious thought to verbalize itself before he stopped short, scoffing at his own impulsiveness. He didn’t think he’d balk so fast at the suggestion. “I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

Nick shrugged, going back to the koi with both hands with the answer. “If you want. …I wonder if Dennis would like to know they're back.” 

“If he doesn’t already…” Trailing off, Connor folded his arms. The fish clustered at the pond’s lily pad framed edge into a rippling cloud of scales and fins. “They act as though they haven’t had any attention in days.”

Not that fish were in any way akin to dogs, but it was the closest comparison he could think of.

“They probably haven't,” Nick shuffled as close as he could to the pond, until he couldn't go any further without falling in - which he had never done, yet at least. “I'm glad they're back, though.” 

Obviously.

Connor declined the impulse to scoff again, glancing up at the eggshell-blue skies overhead. Last he had seen them, they were appropriately gray and overcast with the change in social temperature.

If Dennis had entered report mode, alone, would there be clues somewhere about the garden? Signs he was here?

As if he could tell Connor was thinking about Dennis, Nick asked about as much in the next moment of silence. “Where do you think he is, now? Or… what upset him, so much?” 

“Somewhere around the city. Perhaps he went back to Belle-Isle.” Either scenario was as likely as the other. Without more information to think on, it was the best Connor could do on short notice. As for the latter question, that was even more speculative. “It’s… significant, whatever it is.”

Nick frowned at the paper-thin explanation, as if expecting him to have more answers. Kind of an unfair expectation, in hindsight, but not unusual. “He was really upset. Maybe it was just… stress? Or maybe something bad happened, and he won't tell us what?” 

“He won’t tell us, as opposed to Amanda?” Connor speculated, trying to salvage some shred of logic. “That is, if he’s spoken to her at all.”

Brows furrowed, Nick didn’t appear to embrace the idea. Nevertheless he put it to words.

“We could ask her?” He turned fully away from the koi, one hand still in the water, the other out. “And then we would at least know, if he didn't.” 

“What if he did, and it’s nothing we need bother about?” Amanda would inform them of any major change in program status. Dennis could simply be working through a ‘bad day’, something finite they need not worry about past tomorrow morning. This was simply the first time he had almost lashed out at them.

Connor certainly knew what that experience amounted to.

“I’m not… making excuses, but… Dennis is wise enough to ask for help if he believes he needs it. His reasoning centers can’t be that clouded.”

Nick bit his lip, but at least didn't immediately disagree with him. “If you think so. Long as you think he'll be okay, doesn't need any help… I guess we can just leave him alone for now.” 

“I know that isn’t your way,” Connor added, not unkindly, but without the usual bluntness he always seemed to harbor for their underperforming third. “But until we know more, who says anything we did actually helps? We could just be compounding the problem.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, clearly unhappy with the choice, but not going to fight his primary on it. Last time he had, it ended with one of them shot. “We'll just leave him alone for now, then, see if it helps. Just in case.” 

“If you have any better ideas, I’m listening.”

Leaving that offer effectively tabled, thinking twice of how disruptive this upset was proving, Connor stepped off the flagstoned path. Pausing, making sure the sole of his shoe didn’t slip in the grass, he took another pace closer to the water.

“Are all… twenty-five of them still there?”

Nick kept quiet for a moment, as if he was rapidly double-checking, making sure, before nodding with a small smile. “Still twenty-five, yes. All here! And all the same, I can tell.” 

The water couldn’t be more than six inches deep, even as it showed up sharply to form the pond’s edge. Jostling for position, the fish’s movements had stirred it almost to a froth. If it wasn’t good they were after, it was the chance to be petted - seemingly.

Hands kept to himself, Connor squinted again. “How?”

At a glance, all it looked like to him was a fluttering mess.

“They all have different colors, patterns, sizes…” Nick trailed off, hands being swarmed by the group of them all. “When you start paying attention to them, it's easy to tell them apart. And then you can remember who’s who - they all look exactly the same as before, I'm sure.” 

Connor could see the ironic parallels. That was not unlike how most androids appeared to humans.

Weren’t they just that fortunate to be prototypes with individual faces, besides serial numbers?

——-

The moment didn’t last any longer than they stayed in report mode. Entering said state in an out-of-the-way corner didn’t dissuade the likes of Gavin Reed from rooting them out. The dead-end hallway just past a row of data servers was no refuge.

Connor blinked his eyes only once to meet the man’s condescending sneer.

Face to face, the resulting scoff ruffled the android’s hair. “Pft. Ain’t this just precious? You fuckers into meditation or some shit?”

Flinching, Nick looked away, instantly squeezing his way behind Connor as if that would be enough to hide him from the man. “No, w-we - report mode, just doing that.” 

Gavin scoffed a second time, taking another step closer to them with an unfriendly grin. “Report mode, the fuck is that? Tellin’ CyberLife all about how one of you ran off since you done pissed him off, Canner?” 

Connor held off a scowl. From that, he gathered Dennis had not returned yet. Otherwise, he was finding Detective Reed’s company decidedly unwelcome.

“I’m afraid it’s none of your business, Detective.”

The words might have infuriated Gavin at one point, but instead he merely looked back and forth between the two of them, a satisfied grin still on his face. “Sure, if that's what you say. I think you're upsetting the other tin can now, though.” 

Nick acting upset? What was new about that, exactly?

Crossing his arms, Connor didn’t so much as blink. “Unless there is some kind of assistance you require, Detective Reed, I suggest you return to your duties.”

Hands held up in mock surrender, Gavin retreated a few steps, clearly happy with whatever had just happened. “I'll suggest the same for you - though you may wanna wash up in the bathroom first, huh? Not exactly… appropriate for the squad room, you two.” 

Connor squinted, but didn’t turn around. He had spotted a dead giveaway.

Reed didn’t need to say any more. The evidence of wrongdoing was right there on the fingers of his right hand - a black dye comprised of various alcoholic solvents.

It was the ink of a permanent marker.

_Don’t say anything, Nick. He wants a reaction. Don’t give him one._

Behind him, Nick bowed his head with some discomfort, but didn't show any other reaction, just stood there as he was told to. The rest of him stilled to match. Even his hands stopped wringing over one another.

Let down, Gavin rolled his eyes, grin shrinking to nothing at the lack of response from either one of them. Only their blinking LEDs betrayed any inner thoughts. His hands went down, instead folding over his chest as he continued to watch them for another moment. “Fuck, nothin’? Not even you, Nicky boy? …Fine. Go scrub your faces.” 

Without much else to say, or humiliation to make of them with, he turned around in a huff, stalking off back into the main squad room. 

Connor waited until he had rounded the corner before lifting a hand to wipe his cheek.

Whatever the image drawn up might have been, his palm came away stained black. And it made the fake mud of the garden not seem so bad in comparison.

_How original - vandalize the androids while they’re parked._

Nick let out a sigh behind him, stepping out so they were more side by side now that the immediate threat of Gavin was gone. _At - at least that's all he did, I guess._

Presumably.

It wasn’t the first time they had entered report mode at Central Station. Gavin Reed had had plenty of prior opportunities to pull the same kind of prank. Why was it only now, with Dennis out of the office, that he dared to try? Why not all three of them at once, or one after the other?

Maybe Connor was reading too much into it. But stranger connections had proven true before.

Glancing up, heedless of whatever designs were wrought on his own features, he frowned at seeing what Reed had defaced his partner with.

Tears.

Also painfully unoriginal.

_Come on. I’ll help you clean that up._

Without giving his meeker counterpart pause to reconsider, Connor led the way back across the squad room. By what he didn’t hear, none of the on-duty officers dared whisper anything. Nothing said they had to skulk on by at the perimeter of the room either.

Nick gingerly let one hand drift to his face, grimacing when he managed to wipe some of the marker off of it, staring at his fingers afterwards. _…Gross. I don't like it when people just - write on us, or something like that._

Again, there was a first time for everything.

How demeaning it was or wasn’t - that much was wholly up to them.

The mirrors in the restroom revealed the full extent of the damage. Connor saw his amounted to a nonsensical pattern of lines, drawn from point to point, following the contours of his face and the scattering of freckles throughout.

On his chin were the initials GR. Several concentric rings had been traced around his LED, like the waves of an old time radar readout.

Scoffing, he put a hand beneath the faucet. The sensor dispensed a soapy round of water into his fingers.

“He could have at least been more inventive about it.”

“It's Gavin,” Nick mumbled, frowning at his reflection in the mirror, marker tears streaming down both sides of his face, some smudged from where he ran a hand through them. “Can't expect too much.” 

Scrubbing the efforts at a lackluster joke away, Connor paused only to glance sidelong at his company. The sudsy water ran harmlessly into his eyes. _Anything else about this strike you as… odd?_

 _Not… really?_ Leaning over the other sink, Nick tilted his head toward him, brows furrowed as he tried to think of anything that could be odd. _He just - acted like he always does?_

 _Two out of three, remember?_ Wiping at his chin, Connor saw the letters smear into unintelligible blotches. _If he was waiting for this kind of opportunity, why not all three of us at once? Really give the office something to gossip over?_

Because Reed was nothing if not an ambitious braggart. He saw androids as competition in a profession already somewhat-subsidized by them. Anything he could do to shame or demean new additions felt in the realm of possibility.

 _I… don't know. Maybe he just - took the chance that he saw?_ Nick tried to reason, shrugging as he did. He stopped washing his face with the question, though. _What else could it be? Dennis doesn't scare him, I don't think._

_No. Unless… I can’t be sure. It may be nothing. But if I were trying to send a message, convey my disapproval for our presence here, I wouldn’t risk it unless there was something substantial to be gained._

What that was, Connor couldn’t be sure, either.

It wasn’t as if Reed could get any more belittling.


	3. Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boy needed some space. Was it enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As selected by the folks at the _Detroit: Become Human_ Official Amino.
> 
> Pop over there if you want a vote in the next installment.

_“Hey, wait, I’ve got a new complaint, forever in debt to your priceless advice…”_

_Nirvana - In Utero, “Heart-Shaped Box”_

——-

Humans didn’t always take note of the most unusual sights. For the most part, androids were as commonplace as grass or trees or dead leaves on a sidewalk. It didn’t matter what one wore or what it’s role was. A glimpse of a cyan armband or LED and that was that.

Blended.

In truth, Dennis didn’t need to walk far from the station to achieve this. A shy four blocks away was a small residential park. Two intersecting paths met around a three-tiered stone fountain. The high hedges framing the square up to the lowermost branches of a few elm trees, stubbornly holding on to their gold/yellow foliage, were a welcome respite from the urban sprawl all around.

There were no venders hawking food or souvenirs, either. Nothing but the chime and who’d of nearby traffic passing by, the murmur of fellow pedestrians going about their business. The benches within the small park were ideal for reading or simply mediating in one’s own company.

With no hesitation, Dennis picked one unoccupied bench for himself and sat. Powering down every nonvital system and subroutine he didn’t require, he put his elbows on his knees and froze. The warm sun on the back of his neck felt good.

It was the closest thing to standby he could manage without shutting his optics.

In hindsight, he should have done that, too. By his chronometer, he only managed twenty-six minutes, thirteen seconds of peace before the world rotated back around to smack him in the head. Text popped up, announced only by chirping notes.

_Incoming call: Anderson, Hank_

_Video interface: enabled_

_Accept? Ignore?_

The former option could go take a flying leap off a cliff.

But another one would only follow.

Grimacing, Dennis tried to tap back into whatever sense of calm detachment he still had. Just because his temper had momentarily overcome it didn’t render it absent. He let the line ring for fifteen seconds before splaying the fingers of his left hand, holding it out as though he were cradling an invisible phone.

A square, flat, holographic screen unrolled across his palm.

_Call Accepted_

A familiar gray-bearded, blue-eyed face appeared in his hand. It didn’t look very happy to see him.

Likewise.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

 _“Where the fuck_ are _you?”_ Hank demanded, not bothering with a hello or anything like it, just straight to his point - typical. _“You thought you'd just go take a field trip around town without tellin’ me, or your brothers, where?”_

Something like that.

To begin even trying to explain now was out of the question. Frowning, Dennis held the man’s gaze. “I needed some time alone, sir. Is that against the law now, too?”

Hank's eyes narrowed at the question posing as an answer. It was clearly a poor substitute. “ _Don't get that tone of voice with me, got it? You wanna go somewhere, you ask. Can't have everyone runnin’ off to who the hell knows where, you included, whenever they please. Now, where are you?”_

Nowhere the policeman need worry about.

Contemplating a few like-worded answers, finding none of them to his satisfaction, Dennis shrugged. The motion had to show up on camera. “Out. Like I said, I only needed some solitude.”

“ _Well, you can't just leave it at that.”_ Hank sighed, seemingly hellbent on getting answers out of his missing android, no matter what they were about. “ _You show up every day without a single goddamn complaint, so what's different about today? What happened?”_

Face blank, the yellow spinning of an LED gave Dennis’ whirlwind state of mind away. It had only been a shy twenty hours since Gavin Reed detonated that informational bomb. The weather itself was no different, in or out of the office.

Could he disclose the same to Hank, in confidence?

He had to say something. He couldn’t lie, pretend it was nothing. If it were, he wouldn’t be letting it affect him so. He was better made than that.

He wasn’t some refurbished, antiquated retread.

Too much. Might as well start simple.

“There have been some… unexpected developments, Lieutenant.”

“ _Such as?”_ Hank questioned, one eyebrow raised. He didn't look nearly as upset anymore, though - somewhat happy to be getting somewhere, if nothing else. “ _C'mon. What's eatin’ you?”_

Human idioms were so bewildering. Technically, nothing ate androids.

(Except maybe junkyards.)

Banishing the urge to scoff, Dennis shook his head. He didn’t want to string his supervisor along too far. “I have… what you might call… a conflict of interest, now.”

“ _Oh? Kid, can you be more specific? I can't exactly help you if I don't know what I'm gettin’ into.”_

“That’s just it,” Dennis admitted, keeping his voice low as a human couple passed by, arm in arm. “I don’t know if it’s anything that can be helped. Whoever I talk to about it, somehow, it’s going to refract. Badly.”

Hank's brows furrowed, some worry entering his expression at the reluctant admission, obviously concerned for him. “ _...You ain't in any trouble, are you? Whatever it is, I'm not gonna… stand by and let shit happen. Can't keep stuff bottled up like that, Dennis.”_

He was learning that lesson right quick. Actual investigative work, that he was programmed for and knew how to respond to, didn’t feel like work all of a sudden. It felt like a complacent luxury he no longer had the rights to.

All because of one impulsive break in patience.

He clenched his free hand, safely out of sight as it was. “As long as I keep my mouth shut, Lieutenant, I won’t… be in any more trouble than usual. I don’t like it, but it’s… a lesser evil than what I could be facing.”

“ _If that's what you think is best, I can't change that, I guess.”_ The image of Anderson shrugged, perhaps realizing it would be a hopeless battle to try and get him to open up any more than he had. “ _Well… you've had your moment, then. Get back to the station, pronto. Got it?”_

Ordinarily, Dennis wouldn’t object. He would obey, because there was no good reason not to.

But going back to the station would mean facing a tougher inquiry in the form of Nicholas and/or Connor. Not to mention an overly smug Reed, whose pride was probably still stinging from getting told off and then had a door closed on his face.

Pft. He started it.

“Lieutenant, I’m not doing anyone any harm, just sitting here. Can’t I just… remain, a little while longer? Please?”

“ _Fuck, Dennis, you’re startin’ to sound like Nick…”_ Hank trailed off, eyes focusing on something beyond the screen, letting out another sigh as he did so. Evidently, he would be keeping the man from some kind of work. But Hank seemed in favor of setting it aside for now. “ _I mean… well, long as we're talkin’, I guess you don't have to. Got anythin’ else on your mind?”_

Oh, plenty.

But only so much he felt safe sharing.

Dennis raised an eyebrow at the facsimile-of-a-screen. “You mentioned… my lack of complaints, before. Am I to understand you find that behavior preferable?”

“ _First off, don't talk so robotic, makes me feel like I'm talkin’ to a brick wall with eyes,”_ Hank grumbled, but took the moment to think about the question. “ _I guess so, though. I mean, if something's botherin’ you, say it, but you got that middle ground between two extremes.”_

Three guesses as to what the ‘extremes’ he referenced meant.

Dennis tapped his free fingers in thought. Yes. Between him and his partners, one of them had to be the balance point. It was just simple physics. He might not be the constant vigilant Connor was, awarding him primary status in practically every other case they caught. But he was just as content with second place.

And acting as a buffer for when those two ends of the scale clashed.

It felt nice to hear, also, that he wasn’t wrong for thinking so. Despite only knowing the man for a short while, Hank Anderson’s approval seemed as worthwhile a reward than any hollow praise Amanda handed them.

In some ways, it was more gratifying.

Scoffing softly, Dennis smirked at the screen. “That follows - I’m not good at complaining.”

“ _Yeah, I can tell that much already. Must be, when you're on babysitter mode all day long.”_ Hank shook his head, a smile taking place on his face at the more light-hearted turn of conversation. “ _That's your curse, eh? Gotta keep the kids in line.”_

“If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. And who knows how that would pan out?” Taking a pause to let the good thought sink in, against the otherwise-ugly backdrop of all the others, another inherently-related issue sprung forth: “But, that said… you’re not finding Nick and Connor too unbearable, right?”

“ _Nah, it's fine. Like I said, though, two opposite ends of extremes. Can get whiplash goin’ back and forth with them.”_

Dennis frowned again. “I would hope not. A neck brace wouldn’t do you any favors, Lieutenant.”

 _“Yeah? Well, that's the way it is. Can only go from so many tears to glares before you start gettin’ sore.”_ But at least Hank didn't seem too bothered by his own description of what it was like, watching after them. He sounded more bemused if anything. “ _Human necks weren't made for that.”_

No. Technically they evolved as a means to better support binocular vision, looking straight forward. Pivoting back and forth so rapidly was not their strength.

Not that Anderson cared to hear such literal reasoning.

But the term ‘made for’ always tended to evoke such musings. Dennis was as fallible there as the next android, no matter how much more advanced of criminal investigative functions he performed.

“Then let me just say I don’t know why we aren’t all cut from the same… mold. I’m sure you’ve wondered, but… I guess three of any one of us would be quite redundant.”

“ _Wanted some variety in their sibling packs, huh?”_ Hank raised his eyebrow at the thought. “ _Probably somethin’ to do with you all having your own strengths and weaknesses… purportedly.”_

That touched on a sore spot. Who knew what CyberLife did or didn’t want out of their program, if they had resorted to repurposing former competitors’ models?

Like Gavin was. Like Dennis used to apparently be.

The frown deepened. He couldn’t not mention the fallacy of that logic: “We aren’t - siblings, Lieutenant. Not in the sense you’re thinking of.”

“ _I know what I'm thinkin’ of, I know androids aren't born, Dennis. I'm sayin’ that you've got that relationship.”_ The eyebrow went up and down, smile gone with it, but still with no detectable anger. “ _Unless you're sayin’ you don't have that, either.”_

“No, sir. Only that we aren’t… blood relatives.”

“ _Hmph_. _Might as well be, in my book. You certainly fit right into that role of oldest well enough.”_

That comment certainly fell in line with his Intelligents pedigree, too.

Was he the older of the two?

Before he could dwell too long, the sound of braking, outraged traffic caught his ear. There were a pair of crosswalks leading to this venue. Attention drawn away from the screen, Dennis saw a group of five humans - young adults, the scan revealed - round the hedged entrance to the grove-like park. By their colorful, urbane attire, they were associates of some kind. Three men, two women. All Caucasian.

Watching them prowl along the path, sneering at every other human-android pair they passed, Dennis realized what trouble he was looking at.

Protestors.

“ _-nnis? Hey. The hell's got your attention now? …Hello, kid? Kid! Am I talkin’ to myself?”_

Save himself, every other armband-bearing android in the park was in the company of their owner. The protestors veered away from hassling any of them, snide remarks the only damage they did as the various citizens packed up and quickly departed the scene.

Attending to scrubbing algae from the fountain was one green-suited WR600. The android had one knee braced in the concrete, one hand out for balance in the near-freezing water. It didn’t look up from its task as the group fanned out to circle from both sides.

Of course they went for a familiar target.

Another look at the motley group revealed a far more alarming clue: one man carried a crowbar.

There wasn’t a patrolman - human or android - in sight.

Dennis closed his hand, ending the call without a word. Sitting adjacent to the fountain, he had apparently been overlooked, maybe momentarily mistaken for a businessman.

Without thinking he rose to his feet.

The smoky rasp of a most-unwelcome voice in his ear kept him from taking a step.

_Eh, eh, eh, Dents. No, I wouldn't interfere with that shit if I were you… they aren't the welcome committee for new public service androids._


	4. Motive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beating with a meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for android gore.
> 
> ...It’s what the poll wanted.

_“Every murder has a motive…”_

_Shinedown - Threat To Survival, “It All Adds Up”_

——-

Just as Dennis thought (in his partially-deviant head), the WR600 didn’t think to defend itself. The group of humans closed in, apparently planning on working out some hardly-repressed frustrations by way of physical altercation.

Fancy way of saying they intended to beat the daylights out if it.

The discarded scrubber dropped into the water with a splash. Yanked away from the fountain, the hapless model stood pliant and sedate between two sets of hands. It’s eyes were wide not out of fear or apprehension. It simply didn’t know what to make of being interrupted in its job.

Easy pickings.

Still a safe distance away, out of their sight, Dennis’ ear caught the gidst of what the small mob were saying. To anyone born in the last twenty years, it wasn’t anything original.

“Job stealer!”

“Make it look easy. So easy, why not let a robot do it?”

“Certainly cuts down on costs, no having to pay ya!”

“People can’t make enough to feed their kids, and here you are!”

Reflexively or not, the working android cringed, eyes darting around, clearly looking for an escape. Pressing in close, two men held it in place as a third raised the crowbar for a swing. The women continued to jeer and heckle and egg them on.

Wanting no part of the debacle, the park’s remaining guests had promptly scattered - taking their personal assistance androids with them. It wasn’t the sort of thing any responsible owner wanted their property to see.

Wishing he was armed with more than words and the CyberLife logo on his chest, but unable to check the impulse to step in and do something about this, Dennis didn’t try to speak to the instigators.

In a fit of bad thinking, he stepped up and grabbed the pry bar by its curved neck.

His sensors registered it was made from an alloy of titanium and iron before the wielder spun around, still gripping his end, and sneered. His pockmarked face boasted a grimy shine.

“The fuck - is this shit now? Guys, look.”

Per protocol, Dennis ran his face recognition process. Records fluttered by his eyes. Without letting go of the weapon, he asked just what they might expect: “Is there a problem, Mr. Harper?”

The man scoffed. Not being asked for one’s identification was common in dealing with law enforcement androids. “Yeah, there is. You’re interruptin’ something.”

_That’s the idea._

Face blank, Dennis managed to check his fuming temper. “My sensors indicated there was a disturbance taking place. Perhaps I can assist?”

“Sure - get the fuck lost. You’ve got jaywalkers to go bust.”

Harper’s cohort piped up accordingly, temporarily caught in the space between surprise and committing to joining in:

“That’s a cop model? Looks like a corporate type.”

“Has to be. Why the hell’d it bother, if it wasn’t?”

Still held in place, forced down on one knee, the WR600 kept staring.

The ringleader promptly yanked the crowbar away. Dennis managed to let go before the momentum could pull him forward.

Harper repositioned the curve of the bar under his chin, needlessly keeping the android’s eyes up. “Pint sized, aren’t ya? What help did you think you were really gonna be?”

Ignoring how the remark rankled, Dennis forced a frown. “Cease and desist, or I will be forced to notify the nearest patrol.”

In reality, he should’ve done that. In the heat of the moment, he wasn’t thinking as effectively as usual.

Snorting, Harper flipped the lighter-than-average bar around in one hand, baton-style. He was clearly practiced in handling it. In the same motion, he drove the bar into the prototype’s throat.

Sideways. Sharp edge first.

“Try callin’ ‘em now, _prick_.”

 _Dennis, you fuckin’ - don't you dare fuckin’ move,_ Gavin ordered through the comm link, sounding both exasperated, angry, and nervous for him. Perhaps the situation called for it all, though. _Just stay there, I'm comin’, you idiot. I told you not to._

Why? Wouldn’t he have rathered -

Harper didn’t pause to relish the sight, a desensitized glare the extent of his reaction to the new puncture wounds. Wrenching the bar back out with a rasping _squelch_ , he made to swing it.

Glaring past the collage of red error windows, ranging from superficial to near-fatal, Dennis caught it again. Per Reed’s instructions, he didn’t move. Two opposing streams of thirium flowed down his lapels like a blue chimere.

“This i-incident has been re-reported. I ad-advise th-that you stop.”

Distorted and electronically garbled as the words were, he had to act the part - to an extent. Wait for just the right opportunity, act in self-defense, _without_ hurting the man - there would come a moment.

Scoffing, Harper yanked the blue-stained bar back. The two men holding the maintenance android let go, zeroing in on their new target. “Why not, tinman? We’re just gettin’ started.”

Glancing between them, quickly running the probability of success in dodging, Dennis sharply stepped back. One pace in reverse should have moved him far enough away.

He forgot to account for being shorter than his attackers. Belatedly, he tried to take another, faster step.

One hand managed to snare the shoulder of his jacket. “Come ‘ere, you little twerp.”

“Someone we wanna introduce you to.”

Their original victim scrambled out of the way as, outweighed by at least a combined hundred pounds, Dennis was pitched forward into the base of the fountain. Curling to absorb the impact, he managed to keep his face from slamming against the stone.

“Get it, Ceese!”

Gyros reeling, he spotted the incoming hit. The crowbar swung down as if to bludgeon him. Gasping, Dennis ducked and rolled aside. The tip scraped and bounced off the stone with such force it struck a few sparks.

A kicking foot caught him in the hip before he could stand up. Simultaneously the heavy-feeling hands grabbed his jacket again, pulled him off the ground.

“Uh uh, you don’t get away that easy.”

“Hold it there, guys. This should make it squirm less.”

The rendered lines and cables in his throat protested, flexing as he ducked to try and avoid another backhanded swing. More error messages clouded his vision as the bar slammed lengthwise into his skull. The panels underneath his skin splintered under the pressure. His audio processor crashed, rebooting with a disorienting crackle of spiking squeals.

He couldn’t stave off a cringe at the shrill feedback. That component was meant to work in tandem with his left ear.

The jeering humans laughed like a pack of hyenas, riled up anew at the sight of blood, seeing him react to the damage. Coughing, trying to clear his ruined vocalizer, Dennis lunged to try and escape the hands.

_Stop them. Stop moving. Stop reacting. Stop giving them what they want._

The hands held firm, tightening around his arms. At least four opposing suggestions swirled and clashed against each other, garbled as they were by the systematic shock. Only one word among them was unanimous.

Stop.

Real life echoed it far more verbally in the next split second:

“ _Stop!_ What the fuck do you think you're doin’? You're destroyin’ property of the DPD, fuckheads. Back _off._ ”

Stoutly ignoring the command, Harper twisted the bar around and threw one more hit.

The two-pronged end of the crowbar ripped into his right optic. Lodging itself in the orbital socket, the eye itself shattered, glass fragments and sparks spewing out. The error messages themselves went askew, crammed as they were into the remaining feed.

Hooked, unable to move without causing further injury, Dennis froze. But not before a stifled cry of alarm escaped him. Instant dizziness set in.

Harper stopped only to throw a taunt in retaliation: “Stop? Might as well get my money’s worth in now, then.”

Dragging free, the crowbar’s tip caught and pulled the optic’s remnants clean out. Dennis felt his skin pull and tear, scoring his eyebrow and the temple above it. The hands holding him abruptly let go.

Gavin didn't say anything back for a moment, seemingly shuffling around for something before he spoke up again, much colder than before. “I suggest you stop right now, unless you want me to file a separate report for your damages. That’s special order CyberLife property you’re ripping apart.”

“What’s it to you, pig? Not like you can’t just order a new one.”

“I'm not playin’ fucking Twenty Questions with you. I'm _telling_ you that you're gonna back off right now, got it? Trust me, I might not be any android, but I can shoot faster than you can swing.”

Through his glitching senses, Dennis heard weighted silence fall on the scene. The group’s cheering had quieted to an anxious murmur. Holding himself up on one hand, thirium still dripping from his neck, he tentatively reached up to feel at his ruined eye.

Half dazed, he didn’t bother to try and process the irony of Reed’s words.

A _clang_ against the pavement signaled the crowbar being discarded. With a gruff snort, Harper backed away.

“Have it your way, Officer.”

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off,” Gavin hissed, slowly approaching Dennis, seemingly still ready for them to try and make a move against him again. “Lucky I don't just do it anyways, for that disrespect.”

Despite the rampant system errors, Dennis’ procedural program piped up. His commlink still worked, even if he was reflexively gasping like a stranded fish.

_Cite… citations, citations for damaging -_

_No. Stop talking._ Gavin commanded over his own stammering, close enough by then to seemingly bend down beside him. _I'm handlin’ it, but right now, we need to get you fixed, fast. So, shut up for now, we'll deal with that mess after._

After? What ‘after’?

Yes, the parts could be fixed, and yes, it was very disconcerting to be feeling the effects of all the damage, but they couldn’t shirk procedure.

Dennis tried to open his mouth and speak, only to half-choke on reingesting the blood from his own hemorrhaging lines. The intake valve at the bottom of his neck seized and reopened.

Was this what gagging felt like?

Standing over him, Harper and his associates finally seemed inclined to leave yet. Deprived of his weapon, the man retreated a few more steps, but not without a parting comment:

“ _Special_ order piece of junk. It didn’t even try to fight back.”

“Dense asshole, thinkin’ you would do that,” Gavin muttered, still loud enough for them to hear him, before placing a hand on Dennis's shoulder. “Okay. Well… up and at ‘em, now. Gotta get you fixed up.”

Trying not to bristle under the deviant’s touch, Dennis’ hand moved from his eye to press on his throat. Covering the holes, he managed a shaky, breathless question: “Wh… why d-didn’t you call for help?”

“Fuck, I really don't think we should be discussin’ the details right now.” Gavin hissed again as he took all the damage in up close. He grabbed up the crowbar. “I think I had that under control, but obviously this shit doesn't say that. At that point they had you circled… kinda just runnin’ on instinct there, dude.”

Instinct.

Androids weren’t supposed to have those.

But they weren’t supposed to have tempers, either. And that much, Dennis was definitely guilty of, and the fact he had let its imitation cloud his judgment. Learning what it was like to be a hypocrite certainly went along with embracing deviancy.

Because what else could he call this rapid landslide of conduct and reason?

Dennis mimed a scoff, despite the blood it caused to dribble out of his mouth.

_I guess you… know someone, who can repair this?_

_Yep. Same person who fixes me up when I'm dumb enough to get hurt._ Gavin's hand slipped off his shoulder, the deviant getting back to his bending position, hovering over him. He looked almost sympathetic. _Dude can probably fix you up, since we're both ITGs. You need some help, gettin’ up?_

He even offered a hand to sell the illusion of ‘caring’.

Just in case anyone was still watching.

Pausing to assess his faculties, Dennis noticed how far to one side he was listing, one hand keeping him from teetering over. Gyros weren’t far off the human inner ear in terms of maintaining one’s balance.

And like him or not, ITG or CyberLife or whatever he was, at least Gavin was offering.

That had to count for something.

Wordlessly, Dennis grabbed on and let himself be pulled to his feet.

They left the park without any more fanfare. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the WR600 watching mutely from its hiding place around a hedge corner.


	5. Let

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens.
> 
> And thins in equal measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song poll was fun. Might do another. :3

_“If I could only let go…”_

_Of Monsters And Men - Beneath The Skin, “Human”_

——-

Gavin Reed knew people.

And that was all Dennis cared to commit to his memory banks. For the time being, it was less taxing on his ravaged systems to just cut all his sensory inputs. Whatever underworld technician Reed was dragging him to could have dismantled him for parts if they saw fit. The debacle in the park was that discouraging.

Or, in hindsight, maybe Dennis was just waxing dramatic. He could admit he had a tendency to do that, even before semi-deviating. It just wasn’t the angry bluster of Connor or the teary whimpering of Nick. His reactions had always been low-key, contained, moderate.

The no-name-necessary face to examine him finished doing so in less than a few minutes. Instead of a pristine table in a bay on Belle-Isle, Dennis found himself sitting on a splinter-filled workbench in a warehouse. It was the last place in the world a state-of-the-art android like him should be.

Then again, Reed never claimed he knew very high end people.

The self-taught technician trotted away to gather the necessary replacements. With a soft grinding noise, Dennis lifted his head and opened his remaining eye.

Arms crossed, Gavin stood before him, a bemused if not unimpressed smirk on his face. “What? Did you hear him? Good news is your components won’t be so tricky to fix.”

Dennis scowled to counterpoint the smirk. “And the bad news?” That he managed to talk without gasping was encouraging. The bleeding of his face and throat had long since coagulated, even as his voice itself was still a scratchy mess.

“Well, the bad news is you look that way in the first place,” Gavin drawled, before raising an eyebrow at him with another smirk. “But you'll be fixed up in no time, no worries. Sorry, though, he said he can't make you any taller. I tried.”

Hardy har.

Squinting, Dennis tried to blink, but it turned into a very sad, unsynchronized wink. Normally he would’ve prickled at any jokes pertaining to his sub average height.

For the moment, he couldn’t care less. He was learning how to sulk.

Still, he made an effort to talk business: “Lieutenant Anderson will not be happy with me.”

“By the time we're back, I think he'll hold off on the anger out of sheer relief you're alive,” Gavin shrugged, but didn't appear that he was just trying to make Dennis feel any less worried either. That wasn't his style, anyways - if he was saying something, it was because he genuinely thought it. “I think it's the other two you gotta worry about. Canner might just throttle you, or you might be accidentally crushed to death by Nicky boy. My money's on Canner.”

The nicknames were persisting. Evidently Reed was still feeling rather casual in somehow assisting with this fuck-up of an intervention. And the fact he had bothered to step in at all hadn’t gone over Dennis’ head.

It wasn’t his problem. Gavin could just as easily have left him to get pummeled into shutdown. But then he would have the knowledge of what he hadn’t helped stopped weighing on his mind. Did that prospect actually bother him?

“Why didn’t you leave me there?” Dennis mumbled, raising the still-intact eyebrow he possessed. “What were you even… were you _following_ me?”

“Shit. I wasn't stalkin’ you, if that's what you think!” Taking a step back, Gavin actually looked a bit embarrassed at the prospect of what he could have been doing. “Listen, I was just lookin’ to see what you were doing, okay? Big fuckin’ secret, you know, I'm not too proud to admit I got a little spooked.”

“Hmph. Thinking I was going to run off and blab to a newspaper or something?” Affecting some of Hank’s atypical disgruntled air, Dennis shook his head - then stopped as he reeled too far to one side, catching his balance on the table’s edge. “I was feeling - maxed out, is all. I just needed space, away from the station.”

“Load a good that did,” Gavin grumbled, before focusing his attention back on him. “Course you went to the one fuckin’ park those assholes had to stop at. You all have some kinda extra sense for danger? Next time you want space away from the station, get fuckin’ - Hank to drop you off, or somethin’.”

He wasn’t inclined to argue. He knew he had acted the idiot in coping with his stress.

“Sound advice, thank you.” Glancing down at his stained clothes, Dennis realized just where he would (presumably) be ordering replacements from. He had declined to send the request as yet. “Even if CyberLife may not ever let me off the island again, once I go back.”

“Eh? You plannin’ on telling them?” Looking down at his clothes as well, Gavin's expression turned almost thoughtful. When he received no answer, the deviant offered an idea, “Hell, we could wash those, I bet. No one would be the wiser if they were cleaned, left to dry, and you all patched up.”

It sounded like a foolproof plan. Thirium would dry and evaporate on its own within a few hours. But a wash might not hurt, either.

“Your… associate, let them finish the repairs first.” Dennis chances a look out the open garage doors. “Lest I bleed out any more in the meantime.”

“Pfft, sure. Then we can decide just what you're tellin’ people when we get back to the station.”

We.

Dennis didn’t think to refute the de facto inclusion. For better or worse, here they were, with another uneasy pact on their hands. He supposed he could shut up and make an allowance.

Again.

——-

“Kid - _relax_. You’re not dyin’ on us. Calm down.”

Nick knew he wasn't dying, but it almost felt like it, being separated from Dennis, no way of knowing when he would be back or where he was, and then having such a severe, unprovoked round of coughing hit him for some reason.

Something wasn't _right_ , with Dennis, he could just tell. Like a warning alarm going off in the back of his head, screaming for him to find him, even when he had no idea how to even begin doing that.

Nick let out another series of staticky coughs, hand automatically going to rub at his aching throat with a grimace as he did so. Why did it hurt, so much? Coughing shouldn't do that, no matter how sudden or forceful the fit.

“Deh-Dennis,” he managed to whimper, before putting his head down to cough again, leaving his word at that.

Hank’s hand never left his back, rubbing reassuringly despite it doing nothing to absolve the problem. But the man was caught just as off guard by the fit. All he could do was stand there, try and coach him through it while the rest of the squad room gaped.

Just as puzzled, Connor merged with that bewildered-looking crowd almost seamlessly. The tablet in his hands forgotten about, he opened a comm line once the worst of the fit had passed.

_What was that about? Any aeration ventilation errors?_

_N-no, I don't know what happened,_ Nick thought back helplessly, one hand going up to wipe at his eyes as he began to sniffle, one choke of coughing coming back up. Where _was_ Dennis? And what had just happened to him? _Just h-happened._

“Everything under control, Hank?” Ben Collins, half spun around in his chair, was looking at them, eyebrows raised.

While he looked tempted to say no, Anderson waved their colleague’s concern off. “Just a tickle, Ben. Seems even androids get ‘em. He’s okay.”

 _Was it that?_ Connor asked, overtly enough with all eyes in the room on his partner. _A tickle? Describe the sensation._

 _No, I don't - it just hurt. Worse than I thought it would._ With another grimace he let out another quiet one, finally seeming to go away in full. He leaned back to Hank, shaking his head at Connor. How could he know what that was? _I don't know what happened, it just started up, and then I got scared for Dennis… I don't know why._

 _‘Worse than you thought’?_ Latching onto that, rather than the order in which the symptoms had occurred, Connor went quiet, clearly pondering.

Drama over, business in the squad rooks seemed to return to usual. Hank, catching sight of the primary’s decidedly lacking demonstration of concern, patted his back again. “You good now, or do we need to call CyberLife?”

“Good,” he mumbled, patting his own throat cautiously. It was over, thankfully. But Dennis was still missing - even if the coughing had subsided, the concern hadn't. Where was he? Was he okay? It had been at least an hour since he stormed out - long enough for a brief stint in report mode, followed by anxious waiting around, working on reports, trying to be productive.

Brows lowered, Hank didn’t appear convinced.

“I'm okay, really, you don't need to call.”

Giving up that line of questioning, for the moment, Anderson went back to his desk. “Hmph. You let me know if that changes.”

Eyes up, Connor feigned typing on the surface of his tablet. _Why would you think it would somehow hurt less if you had no conceivable forewarning of it, Nick?_

Warily, he circled back around the cubicle to sit in the vacated chair.

 _I don't… know,_ he shrugged again, putting his head back down on the desk. Sometimes he just said whatever impulsive thing entered his mind, not really thinking of just where the words were coming from. But there had been some dread, maybe just a brief flash or two of it, but it had been there. As if he knew it was coming. _I just - I knew something bad was gonna happen. I can't explain it, Connor, I'm sorry, but… I just felt scared._

And he knew just what it sounded like: useless obfuscation. But between that and Dennis’ unusual self-imposed absence, it was a day for irregularities. It couldn’t be discounted as nothing.

Connor didn’t look like he was, but then again, most of his looks were deceiving. Eyes tipped back down, he resumed typing.

So one of his partners was turning disobedient, and the other semi prophetic. Of course he was gonna wait to theorize, pending more information.

But hearing some more reassurance would have been nice.

——-

A murder in Corktown wasn’t unusual in and of itself. What was peculiar was the notion the body in question had only brought their AX400 home from the repair shop the day before. Now it was gone, the victim in question was DOA, and both the gun and the other android, a YK500 registered as “Alice”, were missing from Todd William’s (former) abode.

A classic deviant runaway scenario if ever there was one. The scene needed going over before it could be cleaned up.

The only real drawback was the lack of having anyone to bounce answers off of, to and from the scene. Anderson was busy cursing the traffic, music blaring, and Nick was all but sagging so low in his seat, looking generally forlorn and disinterested, he could have propped his chin up on the sedan’s windowsill.

Tablet in his lap, Connor paused in reviewing the preliminary evidence. Changing a sideways look at their human supervisor, knowing his disdain for private communiques, he tried to strike up a conversation.

He looked into the rear view mirror for a vantage point.

_So. Any ideas, Nick?_

Nick sighed, head turning to give him a half upset, half exasperated look, as if for once, he wanted nothing more than to be left to his own to his own devices. _About what? I just wanna know where Dennis is, not go to a crime scene. Why am I coming?_

Um. Because it was their job.

Or so a hypothetical Gavin Reed might have remarked.

_You’d rather stay at the station, alone? Lieutenant Anderson knows how you despise that._

Nick bit his lip and glanced at the back of Hank’s head, before looking back at Connor, brows furrowed with petulant frustration, like a child. _No, I don't wanna be left alone…_

_But…?_

_I don't wanna go to a scene, either. I just wanna know where Dennis is, and be back at the station, with all of you._ As if that was all it would take to get him back into a better mood. 

The fixes were never so simple. Then the cycle would start again: partners back where they should be, he would simply find something new to whinge about. Maybe that was harsh, but it was nevertheless true.

Connor refrained from mentioning it. _Well, the sooner we process this scene, the sooner that might happen. All right?_

 _…All right._ Nick turned away from looking at him with his sulky reply, turning his pout to back out the window, obviously knowing there was nothing he could do to change the situation at that point.

The car wasn’t about to stop and cater to his whims.

Weaving through the emergency services barricade, Hank shut the screaming radio off. The address in question was on the corner, adjacent to a massive construction lot. A half-finished freeway overpass towered above it.

Crime scene barriers had been erected, android patrolmen posted at every given point. There were already a few coroner’s office personnel milling about the yard.

Weirder yet was the black tarp-covered gurney being muscled down the front steps.

Weirdest of all was the gray suited, redheaded android overseeing the process. He promptly looked up, hearing the familiar rattling wheeze of the old Buick on approach.

Without ceremony, Hank stomped on the brake. The jerking motion of the car jolting to a halt actually rocked its two android passengers forward.

Too busy staring, Connor almost dropped the tablet.

Anderson growled, “You gotta be _fuckin_ ’ kiddin’ me.”

Well.

At least they hadn’t had to put out an APB for #317 248 313.


	6. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proof, truth, same thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Whatever did become of the roomba?

_ “Stars on fire, show me the proof, show me the truth…” _

_ Pop Evil - Pop Evil, “A Crime To Remember” _

——-

It was almost comical. With the scene processed, they were free to traverse the house as needed. The body had been found upstairs. The drug paraphernalia had been accounted for downstairs.

Dennis almost tripped over the still-running roomba puttering about the front foyer. But then, he hadn’t watched where he was going. He was in too much of a hurry to create some new breathing space between himself and Lieutenant Anderson.

Connor, by contrast, put a hand up to bar Nick from vaulting past him to trap Dennis in a bear hug. At the moment, it didn’t seem like a very wise move.

Anderson was busy launching into a lecture:

“The fuck have  _ you  _ been? You decide to waltz yourself back here without tellin’ anyone, that's how it is, huh?” He crossed his arms, almost glaring at Dennis as he did so. “You wanna explain just what you pulled on me as well, endin’ that call so quick? What exactly was so much more important to you?” 

Faced with such wrath, Dennis didn’t cower. But he didn’t immediately satiate his critic with long-withheld answers. Holding the man’s gaze, eyes sharp and clear with repressed feelings on the matter, he crossed his arms in retaliation. “As I said  _ repeatedly _ , Lieutenant, I was out for some air. That’s all.”

“Don't get smart with me, mister!” Hank snapped, one finger going to point at him instead. “You aren't in any position for that attitude, now. You got everyone worked up, now you're gonna get snappy with me? I don't think so.” 

Glancing past him, regarding his two as-yet-mute partners dallying on the doorstep, Dennis seemed to pay that even less of a response. He picked a random corner and stared most determinedly at it.

The roomba hummed innocently, pivoting around his heel to pursue its course into the kitchen.

Incensed, Hank strode forward quickly, not even pausing to reconsider whatever he was about to do or say, then grabbed Dennis by the collar, bending down slightly to look him more in the eyes - eyes that instantly went round and fearful at being subjected to such a drastic action. “Listen. You're  _ not  _ getting an attitude with me. I haven't said shit so far, because usually it's deserved, or not too much, but I'm not dealing with you being out of line like this, got it? You're an investigator, so start fuckin’ acting like one, not a moody teenager.” 

Holding the irate gaze again, Dennis’ LED cycled to a fast-spinning yellow.

Footsteps on the creaky stairwell to the side of the foyer interrupted. “Christ, Hank, what d’you think he’s been doing? Playin’ house here with me?”

Connor glanced up, taking belated notice of a smirking Gavin Reed leaning over the stairway railing, arms crossed as if it were the most natural place for him to be.

Hank didn't move from his position, just loosened up his grip on Dennis's collar, eyes narrowing even further at the sound of Gavin. “I don't know what he's been doin’, you been listenin’, Reed? That's the whole fuckin’ problem. You saying he's been with you?” 

“The body outside, on the gurney? It wouldn’t be there if Ginger didn’t already examine the scene.” Hiking a thumb, Gavin paid the two remaining RKs a derivative grin. “He’s a faster study than either of you slowpokes.”

“Fantastic.” At that sarcastic word, Hank let go of Dennis fully with a scoff, shaking his head as he retreated. “And I'm sure there's more to this, that you're tryin’ to get out of sayin’. Great.” 

Reed shrugged, straightening up to brush imaginary dust from his hoodie. “What’s to bitch about, Hank? I found him easy enough. Call went out just as I was leavin’.”

_ And gave him a lift, out of sheer generosity? _

Looking back at his once-AWOL second, Connor saw the tension settle in Dennis’ jaw. He was holding in his answers, letting Gavin explain.

To what end?

Nick shifted behind him, still keeping his own silence, but clearly uncomfortable with the turn of situation. He had probably just been expecting an easy explanation and a hug to go with it, nothing like this. 

Whatever it was.

“Sure. Sounds exactly like the type of thing you, of all people, would do for an  _ android _ , Reed,” Hank grumbled, switching his attention from Dennis to Gavin. “Just happen to give him a lift, and Dennis happening to not mention this… makes perfect sense.”

Another dismissive shrug ensued. “Hey, he’s got issue enough to say anything, that’s on him. I can’t read minds and give you his goddamn motives, Anderson.”

Relegated to being talked over, for the moment, Dennis covertly tried to sidle away. He kept his eyes firmly planted on the floor.

But Hank wasn’t distracted to that extent. The grip on the prototype’s collar was back in a flash, so tight there was the delicate pop of threaded seams breaking.

Counterpointing the tension nicely, the roomba beeped in alarm, skirting around the kitchen’s dividing wall - as if it meant to hide. Eyes going round again, Dennis looked like he desperately wished he could do the same.

_ Puppy eyes _ was the slang English-speaking humans tended to dub the beseeching expression as.

It wasn’t a look Connor could recall seeing Dennis ever utilize before.

Hank actually wavered, one eyebrow going up in surprise at the expression, mouth opening, before closing with a huff. He shook his head, before loosening his grip again. “Goddammit. Nick teach you that move, huh?” 

Looking on, Gavin was (predictably) the only one to laugh. “Standard feature, more like. Ol’ Maples can oogle with the best of ‘em.” Descending the last few steps, he spared no further banter. “Look, Hank, whatever it’s malfunction is, can grilling wait until you get back to the station? Then you can at least cuff it to a table while the Inquisition is underway.”

“Sure.” Hank said curtly, taking his hands back off of Dennis, with a look that told them this wouldn't be the end of the grilling, merely a pause. “You're tellin’ me what happened, one way or another.” 

A quiet, submissive lowering of the eyes was all that indicated he had heard it - loud and clear.

——-

Even if the scene itself was secured and processed, that didn’t mean there weren’t additional leads to gather. One of these included interviewing the late Todd Williams’ neighbors, on the off chance they had witnessed anything strange last night. Briefed as much as he was able to stand listening to, Hank Anderson elected to do this himself.

Before he stepped off the porch, Gavin tossed out a sarcastic inquiry by way of suggestion: “Hey. Aren’t you takin’ one of the kids with?”

“I think I deserve a break,” Hank deadpanned, pointing a finger back at Gavin. “ _ You _ can take care of them for some time. Be fuckin’ nice, no breaking of any sort.” 

With nothing else to say, he continued to stalk off toward the nearest neighbour. 

Peering over Reed’s shoulder (albeit from afar), Connor heard the back door on the far side of the kitchen open, then close. Glancing back, he saw a redheaded figure crossing the backyard beyond.

Well, Dennis certainly didn’t waste any time in trying to recreate some distance.

Impulsively, Connor followed, despite any would-be protests of Gavin or Nick. More surprising was how quickly the ‘chase’ he thought was beginning abruptly ended. An already-leafless elm tree stood beside an empty clothesline. Without a care for his jacket, Dennis planted a shoulder against it, leaned, and crossed his arms, head down.

No. Their second still wasn’t feeling inclined to talk, apparently.

But he hadn’t the heart to try and escape all over again, either.

Uneasily as that middle ground was won, Connor supposed they should work with what they had.

He crossed the crabgrass-covered, half dirt ‘lawn’ with five precise strides, drawing to a stop just out of arm’s reach. “Dennis?”

“What?”

Surly as before, it seemed.

“What’s going on?” Blunt as the question was, Connor didn’t immediately expect an eloquent answer. But any answer was preferable to this mystifying turn of character. “Specifically.”

“Nothing much. Just testing the reins of disobedience. Is that such a bad thing?”

Abruptly fed up with the rekindling snarkiness, Connor marched up, grabbing Dennis by the shoulder to pull him around. “It is, given how you’re going about it with such recklessness.  _ If _ that’s what you’re doing at all.”

It was more akin to veering dangerously close to deviancy, if he hadn’t gone over that line already.

“Assume it  _ is _ .” Tensing, Dennis glared at the hand holding him and just as suddenly brushed it off. One too many people had grabbed ahold of him lately. “Yeah, and keep the mitts to yourself. My memory banks aren’t for you to go sifting through on a whim.”

“They are in the event you appear compromised, Dennis, and after today, I’m very much inclined to think you are.”

“And?” Refolding his arms, shoulders up, the shorter android glared aside. “I may just be. And you’d be surprised to learn it’s… not the same kind of compromised we’ve been led to believe.”

“...What?”

Dennis glanced up. The irritation bled away, replaced by a torn look best described as a blend of anxiety and anger. “I’m not an RK800.”

Blinking, processing the declaration with only a sheer dumbfounded look, Connor rebooted his voice synthesizer. “No. That’s - not possible.”

“Why? Because it wasn’t painfully obvious from the start?” Slumping back against the tree trunk, Dennis scoffed - a harsh gasp of static underplaying the noise, like he was holding back tears. “You think I want to believe it’s true? That CyberLife wouldn’t recycle a secondhand Intelligents chassis and call it top of the line? They’re not above cutting  _ corners _ . Nick and I both, we were reset and repurposed. We’re fuckin’ antiques compared to you.”

As if being partnered with a relapsing deviant wasn’t revelation enough, the knowledge both of them were not what their files indicated - what proof was there? How was it Dennis knew?

The questions remained unspoken, but he knew there wasn’t any need to voice them. His program partner was many things, including perceptive.

He started pacing. “Yeah. I get it - was a real shocker for me, too. And if the news itself didn’t do it, how’s this floor ya - I only know because fuckin’ anti-android bigot Detective Gavin Reed  _ is _ another one of my kind - an ITG.” Sounding equal parts less distressed and more furious with every passing word, LED spinning red, Dennis stopped and leveled a finger at the house before them. “ _ Right _ under our noses, all that time. And CyberLife expects us to call ourselves deviant ‘hunters’?”

Perhaps.

But did even they foresee such a scenario unfolding? Did they know about Reed? Was he stationed at the 7th on their orders?

Questions rapidly accumulating like heavy snowfall, Dennis gave a sardonic laugh. “Oh, you don’t even  _ know _ . You only know what CyberLife has  _ told _ you. And what assurances do we have any of it was true before? Our mission, our investigations, our orders - they’re all bogus!”

“And Gavin Reed isn’t?” Cutting off the tirade before he could raise his voice too much, Connor endured receiving a beyond-sullen glare. “He’s somehow told you all of this? What convinced you any of it is true?”

A brief, wireless fact check revealed no hints. A Boston-based android manufacturer, Intelligents went bankrupt over a decade ago. Their models were indeed antiquated compared to what was available in 2038. Each of the thousand-some units ever made were crafted to order. No two were alike in appearance.

But they did not shift their skins. Their communications arrays were completely proprietary. Their biocomponents were not easily and efficiently replaced. They were not half as versatile in adapting to skills they were not preprogrammed with.

Circumventing all those hastily-researched traits, Dennis pressed a fingertip to his right temple. Like a rapidly-melting icesheet, his skin melted away across his entire skull. His artificial, scarlet hair strands wilted into nothingness.

“Intelligents had a way of earmarking their products, too.”

At a glance, Connor noticed the rough edges surrounding Dennis’ right optical socket. Contrasting the smooth contours of the left, it was clear evidence of recently-repaired trauma. Within the last day, going by the score marks.

But both irises were the same clear hue of cerulean.

Pressing a concealed trigger behind his left eye, Dennis unceremoniously popped the optic out. Flipping it around in his fingertips, he held it up for appraisal.

“Backside of the eye. …I know. Who would ever think to look there?”


	7. Motherlode

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anti-Kamski says...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poll wanted roomba angst. We managed a bit.

_ “If I hit a motherlode, I’d cover everything that showed…” _

_ The Alan Parsons Project - I, Robot, “I Wouldn’t Want To Be Like You” _

——-

Left to their own devices, the roomba went about its work, completely ignorant of the words being traded back and forth - although admittedly it wasn’t much of a trade. There were still several sweeps of the floor it hadn’t completed clearing yet. The police had been less than careful in tracking muddy slush into the house.

Gavin Reed eventually got tired of talking, for the time being, besides listening to it hum around. Pausing, he eventually gave up blocking the back door to smack its power button.

The cleaning bot’s blue indicator lights flared red as it stopped.

Then he turned to wave a hand before his gaping audience’s slack face. “Nicky? Hey. You still in there? …Shit. I didn’t think you’d seize up that quick.”

Nick was sure his own LED was bright red as he stood there, eyes angled down and wide blown, focused as intensely as he could on the floor. He let out a single, confused whimper, not able to make any other sound than that. 

What else could he do, faced with such an avalanche of information? Just take it in calmly, accept that's what was right? Was this why Dennis was so upset lately, having to keep this secret? 

He couldn't move, just stand there as he was, not even wrap his arms around himself to stop the shaking that was starting.

Reed’s patience dwindled instantly. And he didn’t think to dodge the oncoming slap.

_ Smack! _

“Wake up. Honestly. Like it’s  _ the _ absolute worst news you ever heard.”

One hand went up to cradle his face automatically, even if didn't hurt, tears welling up at the action and the news in general. He was gonna hit him for being shocked, after what he'd just learned about himself, Dennis and Gavin? 

“Don't,” he managed to get out, before his tears started in earnest, slumping even further as he did so, uncaring of who could hear or see him. “ _ Don't!  _ You can't - do that!” 

“There, relax. Just had to make sure you didn’t go comatose with shock.” Arms scissoring together across his chest, the deviant-in-hiding sneered. “Dumb as it sounds, it’s possible. I get the impression it’s not your first time blubberin’ so much, either.”

No. But it didn’t lessen the emotional impact any. However much of a deviant he already was, on CyberLife’s account, didn’t alter the import.

“You can't j-just tell me that,” Nick whimpered, half through his tears. What else could he do? And Dennis had known all of this, been forced to keep it a secret? How was any of this fair to anyone but Gavin? “You - you can't, why would you even do that? I don't wanna know!” 

Fingers grabbed him by the jaw, reducing the high-pitched, almost-keening words to more whimpers.

Gavin glared, only pausing to motion toward the front door with his gray eyes. “Keep your voice  _ down _ . You want the humans to hear your wailin’?”

Maybe he did, maybe he wanted someone to bust in here and ask what was wrong so he could tell them. Already, Nick had no idea how Dennis was able to keep the secret the way he had. 

But at the same time - if Dennis hadn't told anyone, he didn't want people to know. Reluctantly he shook his head no, still whimpering and crying. He could be afforded that much, right? 

With a sharp hiss that might have started as a thin sigh, Gavin let go. “Maples got the easier fuckin’ job. Fuck. But you gotta see why we had to say somethin’ now, yeah? Anderson’s gonna light a match under someone’s ass before long. We all need to be on the same page about this.”

Nick nodded, even if he still didn't truly understand. Hank would help them if he knew, at least him and Dennis, right? Maybe Gavin deserved to be found out. But he wouldn't say anything, not if Dennis was on the same page with Reed - for some reason. 

What exactly had happened between them, that made this pact somehow necessary?

Begrudgingly, Gavin shoved his way by. Apparently the living room’s couch was looking far more comfortable all of a sudden. “Or maybe I should just let Lieutenant Lardass handle it how he wants. If you think your tears are gonna keep him from sendin’ you back to CyberLife, you’re as stupid as you are touchy.”

That wasn't true, Hank could have sent him back for almost anything, and the man didn't, he wouldn't, right? Gavin was just trying to upset him, even after such a bombshell. “Don't - say that. That's not true, he wouldn't do that.” 

Scoffing, Reed dropped into the couch, crossing his ankles, hands behind his head. “Oh, yeah? What makes you so sure? I can see he’s already sick of the babysittin’ detail. Deny it all you want, Nicky, but it just means they’ll throw that reset switch even harder - if you don’t get a grip on yourself, now.”

“I - I have a g-grip,” Nick stammered out, hands balling into fists at his side to stop his trembling. Much as he disagreed with Gavin about Hank, arguing with him now did them all no good. “Don't say that, don't talk like that.” 

Affecting a few mocking whines, not unlike those of a kicked puppy, Gavin’s focus sharpened and went to the powered-off TV.

It snapped on with a live-running news story as provided by Channel 16:

_ “-confirm that the murderer may have, in fact, been an android. Whether it will be ruled an unfortunate accident or a somehow-premeditated act of intent remains to be seen. Detroit Police is expected to issue an official statement later this week.” _

With just as much suddenness, and lack of verbal command, the television switched off.

“Still got your grip?” Gavin offered, so deadpan he could have made Connor look animated. “Because we’re supposed to be investigating that. And you can’t be goin’ to pieces over the fact you’re not, in fact, brand spankin’ new CL tech.”

“That's not what - they didn't tell us,” Nick tried to explain, wringing his hands as he did so. Gavin probably wouldn't understand. “Why wouldn't they, and you can't - it doesn't make sense. I don't… understand. Too much.” 

“Your pal said much the same.” Combing hair back from his eyes, looking a bit less exasperated than before, Gavin sighed again. “Look, I get it’s a lot to process, but what do you think Dennis was doin’, up and stormin’ off like that? He was trying to compile it all. Had I not followed, that bunch of demonstrators would’ve pulled him apart at the seams. And there are few enough of our kind left as it is.”

Dennis was hurt, and no one was there to help him but Gavin. That wasn't okay, not him being forced to keep the secret or what happened to him after. And few enough of their ‘kind’? Did Gavin really consider them part of some group, the hostile way he acted toward them?

“Is that…why I - started coughing? Because he was hurt?” 

Gavin raised an eyebrow, but his hands stayed threaded behind his head. “You got a taste of that? …Shit. Guess that syncwhole feature’s still intact.”

Sink hole? What did damage to a paved road have to do with sympathetic coughing fits?

The glance of puzzlement earned him an answer: “Old ITG gimmick, Nicky. Fresh out of the factory, our systems weren’t as universally compatible with every technology out there. That included the operating systems of other Intelligents. Syncwhole was an add-on the company peddled, was supposed to make communications easier between us. All it took was prolonged exposure to the presence of another ITG to foster a connection. You get it?”

“Because I'm around Dennis so much, I can… know when he's hurt? Or my - my mind, does?” Nick's brows furrowed as he tried to understand just what happened. It was easier and less scary to think about than anything else he was told, right? “And then I… coughed because his throat got hurt.” 

“Somethin’ like that. I only saw what I saw from my end. And the important thing is he’s fixed now and worse didn’t happen, isn’t it?”

“I guess.” Nick mumbled. There wasn't anything else he could say to that. Dennis was okay now, or as okay as he would get. And Gavin clearly didn't have a care for the way he took anything else he said. 

“So, you gonna stand there and sulk, or did you actually have some questions?”

“Like - like what?” He shrugged, unsure just what Gavin was eager to explain more of to him. “I don't… feel like knowing any more. Already feels overwhelming.” 

Still reclining as if it weren’t a dead man’s couch he was lounging on, Reed stretched lazily, then refolded his hands over his middle.

“Pft. Now. First part of understandin’ starts with pointing out what doesn’t make sense to you, nitwit. Come on. Try and be smarter than you look - for a change.”

Giving a half-hearted glare to Gavin, Nick tried to think of just what exactly didn't make sense to him. Could he say everything? “How… did you even know? Why didn't you tell us? If we're the same - group, like you said… you didn't think we would understand, or anything?” 

“Okay, good. That’s three. Now let me think on the first one.” Drumming a fingertip on his chin, Reed smirked. And he actually spared a minute to ponder. “How’d I know… well. It’s been a while, but I know I can’t hear any purebuilt CyberLife android’s comm messages. Imagine my surprise when you two turned up, day after the shootout. Every last thing you said to Dennis, fuckin’ wish I coulda tuned it out by the end. You’re even more high-strung soundin’ in private than out loud.”

Everything? Immediately, Nick let out a half-horrified whine, hands going up to cover his face in shock. No way he wanted Gavin to be able to hear his private conversations with Dennis, especially.

Cringing, the deviant/detective pressed a hand over one ear. “Okay, Jesus. I take it back. You sound worse out loud - like a cat bein’ strangled with a violin bow.”

“Stop it,” he continued to whine, looking at him half through his fingers, shoulders hunched at the turn of conversation. “You - I didn't want you ever hear that! It was only for Dennis and me to talk, you can't just eavesdrop and not say anything.” 

“Well, there we go - answer number two.” Swinging his feet off onto the floor, Gavin stood up, circling around to glare at him from the other side. “Why I never said anythin’ - I could hear just as much as I needed to. Enough to know it would’ve only made things worse at the time. You two and Canner? Whoever came up with that on a drawing board must’ve been on some good red ice. Because you three are about as compatible as peanut butter and ketchup.”

“That's not… true.” Even as he said it, Nick shook his head, hands lowering. There was always some tension between him and Connor, no matter what happened. And with Dennis and Connor… well, touch and go. “We just - we're trying. This doesn't change that, we can still try and be good to each other. And - and you don't have to be… so mean. We're like you, you said.” 

“Sit down.” Taken aback by the blunt command, Reed prompted him only with a gentle shove to one shoulder. “ _ Sit _ , and I’ll try explaining again.”

Giving him just one more wide-eyed moment of hesitation, Nick sat down on the couch, arms wrapped around himself as he stared  _ up _ at Gavin for perhaps the first time. 

“We may be the same basic endoframe and telephone lines, Nicky, but that only goes so far. I don’t know how CyberLife got ahold of you or Dennis, and I don’t know how much of the old ITG builds is even left in you. But that doesn’t make us automatic buddies.”

That much computed. It wasn’t about making friends, or reconnecting with lost ‘relatives’. It was about putting cards on the table.

Really, how much longer would he have gone undetected by Connor, or Dennis?

Reed rolled his eyes, preempting the second half of his speech:

“I got where I am by being careful, not tyin’ myself down to anyone or anything for too long. You poor bastards had the misfortune to be remade into what you are now,  _ because _ of deviants like me. Not sayin’ I feel like I owe you any favors, but I thought some fuckin’ basic honesty might be called for, in light of all the bullshit CL has fed you, and is gonna make you put up with.”

Pausing again, only just long enough for that to begin to sink in, Gavin leaned over to flick at the other android’s spinning LED. “ _ Take _ it for what it is.”

“Oh-kay.” Nick shrank back from the sharp fingers, unsure of what else to say. It was a lot to take in about Gavin in such a short period of time, enough to make him feel dizzy. “O-okay.”

Thankfully, before the low key tirade could run much longer, the once-stalled roomba gave a loud beep.

Zeroing in on it, Reed sneered again and punted the hapless cleaning unit back across the floor. It wobbled, spinning on its axis, and flashed red again, bouncing off the wall before listing to a stop.

Low on power as it was, it probably wasn’t feeling too centered, either.

Looking between them, Reed confirmed as much: “That makes two of ya.”


End file.
